Home (magic from the hand)
by Paint Splat
Summary: Ito watched E.T. when she was six years old - a crackly, bootleg copy put on by a babysitter to keep her entertained. When Ito was eight her Materia stone got stolen by a bully. When Ito was twelve, she stopped believing in magic. / Five moments in Ito Miyabi's life when her belief was tested, and one where she wrote her own story.


_a/n: idk what this is but i love ito and wanted to write about her backstory_

* * *

i.

Ito watched E.T. when she was six years old - a crackly, bootleg copy put on by a babysitter to keep her entertained.

She fell in love with stories of the mystical, the unknown, the unexplainable. Stories where ordinary misfits could find out the answers to the greatest unanswered questions. Where ordinary misfits could have a purpose.

She purchased a piece of Materia stone from a charity shop when she was seven. It sat on her windowsill and at night, when the real moon shined upon it, Ito would lay awake for hours, staring at the stars, and just _wondering_ \- about the worlds that lay beyond her own, about all the monsters that were real and she thought about the fact that whatever happened, _she was not alone_.

She had real power.

* * *

ii.

When Ito was eight her Materia stone got stolen by a bully.

She didn't have many friends in school - okay, she didn't have any. No one wanted to hear stories about conspiracy theories for some reason. They called her a liar, which she wasn't.

She was a believer.

However, her belief wavered a bit whenever she had to eat lunch alone. However magical stars were, in the end, they were up there, and she was down here. They were just stars.

She bought another Materia stone in the charity shop, and her naivety shrouded her like a wedding veil from the fact that it was nearly identical in shape.

She wouldn't let other people tell her what was and wasn't real.

Gradually her collection grew larger and larger - tape recordings of people communicating with spirits, pictures of monster sightings, debris from alien spaceships - whatever she could get her hands on, she bought. She likened it to rescuing injured animals, only way cooler. Her collection grew from her windowsill to her bookshelves (mixed with monster hunting manuals, odd pieces from her collection, and sketchbooks and notepads filled with her own chicken-scratch handwriting detailing her adventures, just like the ones she heard about in the stories that inspired her to reach beyond the stars).

Ito's room was like her sanctuary. At night, the stars winked at her, reminding her of everything good in the world.

However, it still hurt when daylight came and she went to school and everyone stared and whispered.

She knew in her heart that the stars were still up there, but as far as she could see, they were covered in clouds.

* * *

iii.

At ten years old Ito didn't need a babysitter, but in the lonely hours of the morning she still turned on the TV and watched E.T., the sound on low, fingers reaching out to almost touch the screen. She thought of the little girl who dreamed big and asked questioned, and a tear dripped down her nose. There was no room for a little girl who believed in magic when everyday people tore her down.

She told her first lie to her peers when she was eleven.

They called her Ito the liar, so she became Ito the liar, spreading gossip and rumours and biting her tongue after every word she spoke to contain the guilt rising in her throat like bile.

She stayed silent and people ignored her, giving her the chance to listen in to their conversations. Any gaps in stories she filled in, for once thanking her overactive imagination. After all, she thought, her brain grew more and more cynical over time, and that's all this became to her. Imagination.

(In her heart, though, there was still a little girl carrying pockets full of stardust and drawing aliens in her school notebooks.)

Ito became a compulsive liar, making up stories to make her life seem exciting, adventurous, cool to the other girls and boys. She copied what they told each other and put her own spin on it - and yet still, she sat alone, ate alone, walked alone. Ito alone. Stars were just stars, and she had been lying to herself for years.

* * *

iv.

When Ito was twelve, she stopped believing in magic.

She walked home in the Autumn, watching the leaves twirl around her like a flame. Once she would have found this exciting, would have tried to communicate with nature spirits, dance in the whirlwind, take samples for spells to practice in the garden when she got home.

Now, home was an empty word to Ito. She looked at the leaves with blank eyes, and scoffed.

 _You are just a leaf_ , she said, grabbing at the fragile thing and crushing it between her delicate fingers. Fingers which once spread magic. _How can you help me? You cannot_.

She got home and stood in the entrance to her room, staring at the wall-to-wall collection. Looking at it through new eyes, she saw the truth.

 _You're just junk_ , Ito yelled. _You're fake and useless just like me. You're not real_.

And she cried and she tore down posters and emptied her shelves. She locked it away in the wardrobe, locked her childhood away. She shut the doors and sighed. She wasn't a little girl. The world was just boring. Cruel and ordinary.

Her room was now devoid of anything but the bed, desk, and TV. She turned it on. E.T. stared back at her. She shut it off in disgust.

* * *

v.

Now Ito was without fantasies, she was still lonely and she still spread rumours, but no one really paid attention to her. She entered high school with no intention to change, and no one still believed what she said.

Life went on.

When she was fifteen, she heard rumours.

The Supernatural Studies Club was restarting. Her curiosity peaked, something in her heart rose, and she remembered a little girl who loved to dream and had no friends but the stars in her eyes and the stories in her heart.

She shook her head. The time for fantasies was over.

She couldn't resist, however, searching on the internet for the latest conspiracy theories, if only to laugh at them.

Doing this, she found herself finding someone selling a few items. A bendable spoon. UFO pictures. A Materia stone. The usual sort of thing Ito picked up at markets, though the last item made her heart ache more than she would like to admit.

They were in the area.

Ito shut down the computer angrily. She was too old to play make believe.

She sprawled out on her bed, turning on the TV. A film was staring, and something seemed familiar, and yet different.

It was E.T., only in high definition, the audio and picture crystal clear in a way Ito had never seen before.

Part of her urged to turn it off.

Ito stayed, and she watched.

She laughed. She wondered. She cried at the end like she used to when she was very young.

With tears still dripping down her face, she opened the curtains, and there were the stars, staring at her, winking as if to say _we missed you Ito. You left us._

Ito left the curtains open, letting the night shine on her as she opened the wardrobe. It was a hastily shoved-in mess; she had been delirious with anger and hurt and loneliness when she had ripped her childhood into pieces.

Ito stayed up until midnight putting her room back together, rediscovering theories and stories she once loved, and now loved again. She was reminded in that night of why she cared - stories inspired her, made her who she was. The world was weird, the world was cruel, the world was hers to hold and shape. She had magic, and she intended to use it.

For once, she wasn't sad to wave goodbye to the stars when morning came. For today, she would start her own supernatural story.

Turning the computer back on, in the early morning light, she purchased three items.

A bendable spoon. UFO pictures. And a Materia stone.

* * *

(vi.

Ito took a deep breath. Her shoulders shook. Now the time for lying was over, now the time for loneliness had ended.

She believed. She had magic.

This was _home_ \- where she was meant to be.

Taking one final breath, she opened the door to the Supernatural Studies Club.)


End file.
